Chapter 6
The minute I passed
through the opening, I was pleasantly surprised. Though the entry
was low, the inside of the cavern was not. Chatter had lit the
flame in his hand again, and now he blew on it and it flew off, a
globe of light, to spread through the air and illuminate the
chamber.
The cavern was a good
twenty feet high by thirty feet long. Dry and snug against the
elements, it was still cold, all right, but the snow did not enter
here, and I had my doubts whether rain made it
through.
Chatter glanced
around.
Peyton tapped him on
the shoulder. “What are you looking for?”
He let out a long
breath. “The portal. It’s hidden to keep yummanii who might be in
the area from stumbling into it. I think a few of their shamans
know about it, but the Court of Dreams is no place for the
unprepared, regardless of background.”
After a moment, he
stood back and closed his eyes, his hands outstretched in front of
him. Taking a hesitant step forward, he faced to the left, then
opened his eyes.
“There you are!” With
a wave of his hand and a whispered chant that I couldn’t quite pick
up, an archway appeared against the solid rock. He turned back to
us. “There’s the portal. Once we cross through, be cautious not to
stray out of my sight. It’s easy to get lost in the Court of
Dreams. There are nightmares there, as well as your heart’s
desires. And sometimes, they overlap. I know the path to the King
of Dreams, so follow my lead. It’s not far from the
entrance.”
We fell in line
behind him, with me second and Peyton bringing up the rear. And
then, without another word, he stepped through, and we
followed.
At first, the
transition was black, and everything around me felt like it was
swirling in a vortex of endless night. But then I gradually began
to make out colors in the wash, sparkling lights that twinkled in
and out faster than I could pinpoint them. My stomach rolled with
the feeling of being on water, in a big boat surging over the
cresting waves. My feet met no solid floor, no sense of resistance,
and then it felt like we were traveling a hundred miles an hour,
the sparkles turning into tracers.
I could barely see
Chatter’s back in front of me, and when I tried to ask Peyton if
she was still with us, my mouth moved but no sound
emerged.
After a time, the
kaleidoscope of lights began to subside and then, within a single
blink of an eye, my feet hit solid ground and I tripped against
Chatter’s back. We were standing in a misty valley, with a rolling
fog wafting hip-deep.
I quickly turned,
relieved to see Peyton standing behind me.
“Are the both of you
okay?” Chatter asked.
We nodded. I glanced
overhead. The sky was hazy, and no sun shone. I didn’t even know if
they had a sun here, but the land was
bathed in a mix of shadows and the colors of sunset. Trees,
straggly and barren, dotted the landscape, and boulders jutted out
from the fog that swept across the ground as far as I could
see.
“Follow me, and do
not speak to any who pass you unless I give the go-ahead. There are
dangers here I cannot even begin to describe.” He looked around,
gauging our whereabouts, then motioned for us to follow him to the
right.
We moved through the
mist, cautiously, unable to see the ground. I was afraid of
tripping over a root or a rock, but for the most part, the lay of
the land was even and level and Chatter seemed to instinctively
skirt obstacles in the path. I followed his lead carefully, and
Peyton followed mine.
As we came to a fork
in the road, Chatter turned to the left, but something to the right
caught my eye. I turned to look and gasped.
Krystal, my mother,
was standing there, holding out her arms.
“How . . . what . .
.” I stared at her, wanting to believe, wanting so badly to think
it was her, and yet I knew she was dead. How could this be? Was she
a spirit? Was I hallucinating?
I found myself
walking off the path, mesmerized by her sudden appearance. Krystal,
my mother. Krystal, the woman who was never a mother to me. But now
she was wearing a loose-fitting dress that seemed as ethereal as
the fog. Her hair hung loose, but no longer stringy. She laughed
when she saw me and her eyes were welcoming, no longer jaded with
crack and horse.
“Honey, I’ve missed
you so much. I’m so sorry I had to leave you; please forgive me.
Please, give me a chance to make all those unhappy years up to
you.”
I gazed at her face
and thought, My mother is beautiful,
but then I stopped. Something was off.
Cicely! Cicely—can you hear me?
Cicely!
Far in the distance,
someone was calling me. But my mother’s face filled my vision and I
moved toward her, wanting to run into her arms. I was five again,
and she was smiling and I felt for the first time in my life that I
lit up her world, and I ran into her embrace. She wrapped her arms
around me, so strong and caring, and I melted into the love she had
never, ever shown me and burst into tears.
Blink. Wait . . . no, I’m twenty-six, not five . .
.
Blink. Stay with me forever; you are my little girl. You just
dreamed a long, strange dream that you’re all grown up. But you
don’t have to be a grown-up, Cicely. You’re my little girl and you
can stay with me.
Thank you, Mama . . . I wanted to love you so much, I
wanted to be your little girl but you never would let me. Am I your
little girl? Mama?
You’re forever and always my baby.
A faint sound in the
distance . . .
Cicely! Cicely! A different voice, calling to me,
but there was nothing in my field of vision save for
Krystal.
Krystal let out a
long, happy sigh, and I wondered what she’d say next—all those
things I’d waited all those years to hear. But then she smiled, and
her teeth were needle sharp, and her eyes burned crimson—the
crimson of blood.
The spell began to
break, slowly, dreams crashing to the ground.
“Krystal, no—Mother!
Mother!” I began to struggle, trying to free myself, but Krystal
was strong—a lot stronger than I remembered. And then I realized
that Krystal’s arms were long and sinuous and she wasn’t really my
mother.
Cicely! Break free, child. Break free of the
illusion! A sudden gust of wind blew away the fog in the
area in which we were standing and I gasped, for it blew away
illusion, too. Instead of my mother, I was in the clutches of a
short, squat, reptilian creature with tentacles waving. I screamed,
shattering the last shards of the spell.
Whatever it was, it
wasn’t happy, and the grip around my arms and waist grew tighter as
I pushed away from it. I could no longer understand what it was
saying, and I struggled, trying to pry my way free from its
grasp.
I felt something jar
against my back and glanced over my shoulder. Peyton was stabbing
one of the tentacles with a butcher knife. And Chatter was holding
his hands out and—Whoosh!—a white-hot
flame shot out to envelop the creature. The thing made a noise
sounding like a scream and let go of me. Peyton grabbed hold of my
arm and ran, dragging me along behind her. There was another shriek
from behind, and something grabbed my ankle.
I tripped, falling
forward, and looked back to see one of the scaly arms wrapping
itself around my foot, and I twisted around, lunging forward as I
whipped out my switchblade and drove it into the creature’s flesh.
It uncurled from my ankle and then, with a final thrashing slap, it
slammed against me, knocking me down, then retreated.
I lay in the
gathering fog, gasping for breath. Peyton and Chatter knelt beside
me and helped me stand. Thoroughly confused, I glanced around. We
seemed to be right back where we were when I’d seen . . .
Krystal? Everything came flooding
back.
“Krystal? I know
she’s dead—what the hell possessed me to go over to that thing?
What the fuck was that? What happened?” Furious at myself, and
bewildered, I looked from Chatter to Peyton, then back to Chatter
again.
He rubbed my shoulder
gently. “Don’t blame yourself—you stumbled over a dreamweaver. They
feed on the dreams and secret wishes of others and can look into
your mind. The demons live primarily in the Court of Dreams, but
now and then you might find one slipping over into our world as
well. They tend to haunt the wild places. We don’t know what they
are, only that they aren’t
Fae.”
Nerve-racked, I
cleared my throat. “What would it have done to me?”
“Sucked your mind
clean. Left you a vegetable.” The offhand way he said it chilled me
to the bone.
“Let’s move on. Maybe
you need to tether us together so we don’t wander off like I did.”
I didn’t want to meander off the road again. In fact, I wanted to
turn around and go home, but the monsters waiting for us there were
just as frightening. And Kaylin needed us.
Chatter cocked his
head, looking curious. “Cicely, you didn’t wander off the path. The
creature hid in the fog beside you and caught you in its trap
before we could stop it. You stayed on the path the entire
time.”
I’d stayed on the
path, hadn’t strayed, and still they came out of the mist and fog
to hunt. Shuddering, I nodded, saying nothing.
Are you all right, child? I tried to reach
you.
Ulean . . .
You tried to lead me back to myself. But
nothing seemed to penetrate that fog, my friend. Thank you for
trying.
There are so many dangers here. I am glad I came with you.
But be wary—creatures like the dreamweaver are hard to fight and
they use sweet honey as a lure.
I thought about
Krystal, and how I’d always wanted her to be a normal, loving
mother. If my thoughts were that easy to read—if my secret hopes
about my mother were that clear—then it was a good thing we hadn’t
brought Rhiannon with us. Steeling myself, I nodded for Chatter to
move on.
We headed farther
into the shadowy land. I sensed beings going by, catching whispers
of sounds on the slipstream, but I couldn’t understand the
languages, only the emotions . . .
. . . a great sadness, loss . . . melancholy . . .
. . . hunger, seething, angry hunger . . .
. . . fear, constant wariness . . .
. . . so tired . . . so very tired but no place to rest . . .
“This place isn’t a
happy one,” I said after a while, disengaging from the slipstream.
It was too depressing.
Chatter glanced back.
“No, the Court of Dreams is not a happy place, although some
people—like the Bat People—have their own measure of joy. This is
the place where old dreams come to die, where jealousy and envy
feed, where people lose their way and creatures can take advantage
of sadness, insecurity, and hunger.”
I had no clue as to
how long we’d been walking—though I noticed that I wasn’t nearly as
tired here as I had been wandering through the snow—when Chatter
stopped and pointed. A tall mountain jutted out of the fog, stark
against the twilight sky. A large cavern was visible against the
side of the granite.
“The home of the Bat
People. That’s where we’re going.”
As I stared at the
inky opening, a sudden flip in my stomach told me that we had
barely scratched the surface of the Court of Dreams.
There were shadows
entering and exiting the cave: tall, thin, bipedal, with wings
folded back as they walked. They moved deliberately, as if they
were in a procession, knees bent, their movements jerky and strong.
I glanced at their hands; long talons shimmered like silver spikes.
Whispers raced through the air . . . clicks—hundreds of
clicks—echoing on the slipstream to the point where I could barely
stand to listen.
Ulean howled around
me. So much energy flowing through the
slipstream. Cicely, this is a dangerous place. Watch your
step—these beings are not dreamweavers, but they are the eaters of
hope and of love and of dreams. They can be wild and
wicked.
One particular shade
turned toward us and, in a blur, moved to block our
path.
Chatter shivered, but
he held up one hand and opened his mouth. He darted his head this
way and that to match the bobbing head of our roadblock, and a
series of clicks issued forth.
So this is why Lainule bade me bring him along.
There was far more to the Fae than being Grieve’s sidekick, and I
was only now beginning to recognize how talented he
was.
After a moment, the
blurred figure motioned to us and turned. Chatter moved ahead,
gesturing for us to be quiet but stay close. Peyton and I fell in
behind him again, and we entered the cave.
I wasn’t sure if I
was expecting total darkness or what, but the cave was an explosion
of light. Globes of light dotted the ceiling, easily a thousand
brilliant suns, creating so much light that I instantly developed a
headache. The intensity was close to blinding, and I held up my
hand to shade my eyes in the white-hot chamber. I could barely see
anything, but a strange sensation filtered through my body—that of
being analyzed, screened, and cleansed. I glanced down at my skin
and saw a fine ash covering my arms. As I shook it off, my arms
glowed, and I realized that the light had burned off the layer of
dead skin on the surface.
I glanced at the
floor. We were walking on a thin mesh—as sturdy as stone, but
essentially we were on a sieve that allowed the skin to drop
through and far, far below, a flame burned.
More terrified than
curious, I moved closer to Chatter and touched his arm. He glanced
back and I pointed toward the floor. He just nodded, a cautionary
look in his eye. I kept my mouth shut, but moved back to Peyton’s
side and took her hand. She looked as nervous as I
was.
We passed over the
mesh and then into a second chamber, as dark as the other had been
bright. Plunged into the blackness, I stopped short, unable to see,
but then hands—from someone terribly tall and strong—gently rested
on my shoulders. Sharpened nails curved around, lightly piercing my
Windbreaker, and whoever it was gave me a shove
forward.
Too frightened to
turn around, I moved as directed. A thick fog began to fill the
chamber, and as I inhaled, it felt like I was breathing water. The
fog poured into my body like syrup over pancakes, and I started to
melt, the same way I had when Kaylin had taken me
dreamwalking.
I closed my eyes as
the lyrics to Gary Numan’s song “Remember I Was Vapour” began to
run through my head. I mouthed them as we moved along, gliding,
flowing, shifting. I wasn’t even sure we were still in body, but it
was so incredibly relaxing that I ceased to care, just pouring
along the floor.
A waterfall cascaded
into my body and washed me clean as I closed my eyes and leaned my
head back. Drenching me through, the glistening currents washed
away pain and weariness and lingering feelers from the dream
beast.
As we came to another
door, abruptly I found myself back in my body. My hair hung,
soaked—whether from water, humidity, or sweat, I didn’t know. I
glanced around the dimly lit room and caught sight of both Peyton
and Chatter, who looked as wet as I was. And, a ways back in the
hall, a tall throne.
Thrones are almost
always obvious—they’re meant to impress and intimidate. And this
one was about as impressive as I’d seen: tall, imposing, and
narrow-backed; I realized that it was fit for a king—a king with
very large wings.
As Chatter motioned
for Peyton and me to scoot close to him, there was a movement
toward the back and a tall creature strode forward, knees bent,
cloaked in a swirl of smoke, with wings towering above his head. He
must have been ten feet tall, stretched thin and gaunt, and the
only features on his face that I could see were his eyes, bulbous
and faceted. He took his place, wings flanking either side of the
tall throne, and pointed to the spot in front of him, then
waited.
Chatter pushed me
forward, following with Peyton.
He leaned forward
and, in a voice so high pitched I could barely hear it, said,
“Welcome to the Court of Dreams, Cicely Waters. What do you want
from me?”
I wasn’t sure how to
address him, so I chanced a guess. “Your Majesty, have I the
pleasure of addressing the King of Dreams?”
He grunted.
“Pleasure may not be the best word, but
yes. I repeat: What do you want?”
Sucking in a deep
breath, I took a small step forward. “Your Majesty, I have been
sent by the Queen of Rivers and Rushes on behalf of a friend. He
needs help that only a shaman from your tribe can give
us.”
The King of Dreams
did not blink—he did not have eyelids—but his eyes flashed and he
tilted his head to the side. “Lainule . . . it has been many years
. . .” His voice was soft, almost too soft to hear, and I caught
the scent of regret in his words. “What help does your friend
need?”
I let out a long
breath, feeling suddenly a very small speck in the universe. “I
need a spell from one of your shamans for my friend Kaylin. His
night-veil demon is waking up and he needs help.”
There was a sudden
shift in the room and I could hear a buzz of clicks behind us. The
king froze, then reached one long, thin arm in the air and snapped
his fingers. Another shadow-bound creature scuttled over to him,
listened carefully to a series of clicks, and then nodded, taking
off into the gloom.
“Kaylin. I have not
heard that name in some time. So he still lives?”
I nodded. “Yes, he’s
now a grown man and he’s slipped into unconsciousness. We cannot
wake him.” And then, because I could not stop myself, I asked, “Are
you one of the night-veils? I know Lainule called you the Bat
People, but . . .”
The king let out a
loud noise that was either indignation or laughter—I hoped for the
latter—and extended his hand to me. “We are not the demons, but the
product of them. We are their children. But your friend—he is
hybrid, he is unnatural, and there is no predicting what will
become of him. We have watched him since his birth.”
“You won’t take him
away from us, will you?” I tried to imagine Kaylin—so full of
life—locked away in this gloom-filled world of shadows. Though he
might be a dreamwalker, he wasn’t cut out for this life. I knew
it.
“We will not bring
him here, no. He would not survive. We live in the periphery of
your vision. We are always a fingertip away from your touch. We
speak so quietly that you can hear us whisper but not what we say.
We are the shadows that move on their own. We are the people of the
Bat, always transforming. Your Kaylin is far too substantial to
live among us. But we watch—because there may be more like him out
there, and if there are, we need to know what he will become. He
embodies the next generation.”
He fell silent,
motioning for us to move back. Chatter led us to a corner where
there was a pile of rocks, and we sat, waiting.
I leaned forward,
whispering into the slipstream. What is this
place? I thought the Bat People would be like the Cambyra
Fae.
Chatter shook his
head. No, they are an entirely different race.
They take bat form in our world at times, but they can walk through
our world in shadow. That’s where Kaylin gets his dreamwalking
abilities. All of these creatures have night-veil demons merged
into their souls. The demons have chosen the Bat People as their
Chosen Ones. Their children.
He stopped as another
of the Bat People entered the room. “Ten to one, that’s the
shaman,” he whispered.
I nodded, but inside
all I could think about was how much I wanted to go home. I didn’t
like the Court of Dreams. It was too alien, too much of a reminder
of how little humanity—and the magic-born—actually owned the world
in which they lived. The Bat People would forever make me wonder.
Was it a bat, or one of the Bat People, watching us as they flew
out of the cave? And yet . . . and yet . . . how could I talk? I
was also part Cambyra Fae.
Suddenly I longed to
turn into my owl self and soar off into the night. I needed to be
in flight, needed to be out of reach of worry and uncertainty. As
soon as we got home, I’d take wing and leave it all behind. At
least for a little while.
“You have the boy?
The one locked to the night-veil?” The voice was so harsh it hurt
my ears, and I cringed as the creature came up to me. The King sat
back on his throne, apparently unconcerned as far as I could
tell.
“He’s not with us,
no. He’s back in our world—unconscious. Lainule said that his demon
is trying to wake and that he needs a spell from the Bat People to
help him.” I forced myself to sit up and shake off my
fear.
The shadow laughed
then, an ugly, frightening sound. His eyes burned, glowing green
and sparkling with white pinpricks. “Yes . . . his demon must wake
or he will forever drift in the depths of his mind. I will give you
the spell, but you must be prepared. Your friend, in his new state,
will be unpredictable. I bear no consequence from waking the
night-veil. Make certain you want to do this, Cambyra. For once
done, it cannot be undone, and I doubt that you can overcome Kaylin
once he’s met and accepted his demon.”
“Why did it choose
now to wake up? I thought it died when it entered his soul in the
womb.”
“When the demon first
enters the host, it dies, but it leaves behind a hatchling. After a
long while, the hatchling begins to wake. It is simply the life
cycle of the night-veil demons.”
I glanced at Chatter,
wondering what the fuck that meant. But I’d come to accept in the
past couple of weeks that fear was the worst reason for holding
back. Fear paralyzed. Hesitation was deadly.
“Give it to me. I’ll
take it to him and cast it, if I can.”
The shaman clicked a
series of notes, then held out a fetish—it was of a grotesque,
twisted creature, and I had the feeling it represented one of the
demons.
“To call forth his
demon to waking, cast a circle round him with salt and then inside
that, a ring of crystals—quartz—and lastly, a ring of belladonna.
Then follow these simple steps,” he said, giving me the rest of the
instructions.
“Thank you. We need
Kaylin, and he’s our friend.”
“Think you friend,
think you foe. Either way it can go. But you must not tarry. If he
lingers too long in the world of dreams, he will never wake, and
his body will fade.” And with that, the shaman abruptly
left.
I tucked the fetish
inside my pocket, making sure it was zipped shut. As we stood, I
turned to look back at the King of Dreams. He was standing now, his
wings outstretched in a terrifying wingspan that filled the area
around the throne.
“Cicely!” His voice
echoed through the chamber. “Go now. But do not forget—we are
watching. And you have now caught the attention of the Court of
Dreams. Lainule owes us a favor. As do you.”
And then, with a
swirl of shadow and fog, he was gone and we were outside the
cavern.
Shuddering, I turned
to Chatter. “Get us out of here. Now.”
He nodded. “I think
it best we leave. Come.”
All the way back to
the portal, we kept silent, moving as quickly as we could. We
entered the cavern, stepping into the vortex of the portal, and
everything became a spinning top of energy as we passed out of the
Court of Dreams and back into the cavern on our side.
When we exited the
cave, we found morning had arrived.
I was dragging butt.
“We were there all night. That’s kind of a good thing,” I said.
“The Shadow Hunters will be hiding from the light.”
“Yes, but we have to
hurry. I have a great sense of urgency.” Chatter pushed us forward,
not allowing us to rest. By the time we were partway through the
underground tunnel, I was walking in my sleep, so tired. Peyton
didn’t look much better, but Chatter seemed fueled by an inner
fire.
The snow was falling
thickly when we emerged from the tunnel and began to work our way
back toward the road. We’d walked a good fifty miles—since, I
supposed, the day before, although time wasn’t fixed in the realm
of Faerie—and my body ached. My mind was running on autopilot and I
ignored the quiet hush of the snow as it layered deeper and
deeper.
As we neared the
road, there was a rustle in the bushes and my wolf began to howl. I
pressed my hand against my stomach and turned, knowing in my
deepest core that he was there—watching me.
And there he was.
Panting with pain, leaning against a tree, Grieve stood, his gaze
fastened on me.
Oblivious to common
sense, I raced toward him, my muscles screaming as I pushed them
beyond their limits.
He opened his arms
and I fell into his embrace. “Cicely, oh Cicely, my Cicely,” he
whispered, covering me with kisses. “I can’t stand this. I miss
you. I need you. I have to have you.”
And I knew then, I
was lost.